


i can make your body echo (like we're in an empty room)

by orphan_account



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Panic Attacks, Sexual Content, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:41:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23637853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “You like it rough, huh?”
Relationships: Alex Manes/Original Male Character(s), Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 46
Kudos: 166





	i can make your body echo (like we're in an empty room)

He’s still wearing turtlenecks at his high school graduation.

-

Three days left in Germany before his next, classified location. Alex is in his civvies, trying not to judge the bar scene of Kaiserslautern too harshly. The karaoke is loud and the beer is good, he loses himself enough in the lights and noise, tucked against the bar, trying not to think much of anything.

A sharp faced man with glittering cheeks slides onto the stool next to him.

“American?” he guesses, accent thick but teasing.

Alex laughs despite himself, glances down at his jeans and jacket. “Damn. That obvious?”

“We have many of you Army men around town.” The man leans easily into Alex’s space, confident and maybe a little tipsy. Heavy brows, and a sculpted face. He must be an office worker, maybe an artist of some kind; hands clean and soft, nails black with polish. It turns something over inside Alex’s chest, the sight of it. “Always looking so… strong.”

Alex is three bourbons deep; he’s grinning as he angles his head, purposefully pulling attention to his mouth as he sips his drink. He puts money on the bar and gets up without a word. The man’s presence is hot at his back. Out of the thrumming bar and into the cool street. A hand twists into his own as soon as they turn into an alley, pulling Alex along quickly.

“Alex,” he says, into the quiet.

“Elias,” says the man, smiling as though surprised that Alex bothered with names. Alex pushes his back against the brick, kissing him before either of them can say anything stupid. Hot, fast kisses; hands burning along his jacket, the underside of his jaw. Shadow and shallow breaths. Alex takes charge, following Elias’ cues. His head is knocked back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut, as Alex unzips him and bites his neck. “Verdammt. You soldiers, always so… handsy.”

Alex has to laugh, pulling back a moment. Elias’ eyes are halogen blue, grinning and gasping, and then he drags Alex in for a dirty kiss. They get off next to the fire-escape, both coming by Alex’s hand, Elias slumping bodily into Alex when he finishes. Alex holds him steady, knows this routine, and kisses him before stepping away.

Elias tracks him, a curious tint in his gaze. “I live not far from here,” he says.

“I ship out in two days.” Alex tries to look apologetic, because he mostly is.

“Ah.” Elias fixes himself, steps away from the wall, pausing at Alex’s shoulder. He surprises Alex by leaning in for a brief kiss on his cheek. “See you around, soldier.”

-

In the barracks Alex isn’t looking for any complications but there are guys who meet his eyes in the mess hall or over a poker hand and he feels that hot, sharp tug in his gut. Quiet in their cots or five minutes in a closet or dangerous head-rush of knees in the dirt, night sky offering the illusion of privacy. It’s not something they talk about, before or after. It’s not something that exists outside that moment. Without words, though, Alex still learns how to navigate what these hands want from him, communicating with the push and pull of uniforms.

-

Alex is ostensibly on leave for Christmas. A whole entire week. He comes back to Roswell, because--well. He tells himself it’s because he has no where else to go. He’s twenty-four and standing in the junkyard, hands tangling in front of him, heart knocking around the cage of his throat, telling himself this doesn’t have to mean anything.

The trailer door swings open, a good half minute after he knocks. Michael’s curls get wilder every time he sees him.

His eyes are soft the second he registers Alex and it flames at Alex’s skin. Glowy, multi-colored lights string along the edges of Michael’s trailer, and the effect on his face in the dim interior is breathtaking.

Alex shoves one hand forward. “Merry Christmas, Guerin.”

“It’s December 21st,” he says, taking it anyway. He unwraps the novelty beer mug, complete with little flags of Germany printed on the glass. “Huh.” Alex raises his other hand, shaking the six-pack lightly. Michael laughs. “Fuckin’ tall boys? You absolute degenerate, get in.”

Inside the trailer is worse. The lights bleed in through the windows, coloring Michael’s face with a broken mosaic rainbow, sliding along his hair, his eyes, his neck; all the world narrows to Michael swallowing, Adam’s apple reflecting red-blue-green. Alex sets the beers on the counter, wipes his hands on his jeans, suddenly, overwhelmingly nervous.

Michael pops a can open and pours it into his mug, doesn’t drink. Every breath feels stolen, in here. Michael is two feet away and impossible not to stare at.

Alex opens his mouth to speak and Michael reaches for him in the same instant. Backs him into the wall, bumping their mouths together in a not-quite-kiss. Alex’s hands curl harshly into the front of Michael’s shirt, dragging him closer. Michael moves smartly, stripping his shirt first, then Alex’s, his mouth never more than an inch away from Alex’s skin. When they’re naked and Alex is keening, Michael’s fingers opening him slowly--always too slowly when all Alex wants when he’s around Michael is _ now_, faster, more more more--he’s two seconds away from begging when Michael pulls his hand away to spin Alex around by the hips. Michael pushes in--slow, _ slow_\--and Alex braces with his hands skidding the wall. Alex wonders desperately if Michael does this on purpose--deliberately dragging it out, a delicious torture to keep Alex under him as long as he can. He doesn’t want to know--doesn’t want to hope. Instead he arches back, pushing into Michael’s grip, Michael’s thrusts; groaning louder than he’s allowed himself in over a year, since the last time they did this. Sweat builds, Alex’s voice breaks on all the words he can’t say, and when he comes Michael holds him still, riding Alex’s shudders, gripping him tight as a vice. Alex blisses out, head dropping between his arms, and in the next moment Michael pulls out, pinning him hard against the counter as he comes all over the small of Alex’s back.

For several, loud moments the only sound in the world is their breathing.

Then, Michael laughs, softly scraped from his lungs. “Shit. C’mon, I still have some hot water left.” They cram uncomfortably into Michael’s single stall shower, rising off quickly under a lukewarm spray. Michael kisses the back of Alex’s head and hustles him into the bed after they dry off between one towel, wrapping around Alex octopus-style, all limbs and clinging suction. He noses Alex’s neck, sending ticklish shivers along the damp skin there. “Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal.”

Alex laughs, memories bursting like fireworks. He settles beneath Michael like he’s a weighted blanket and sleeps dreamlessly, the best he has in months.

-

In the morning, Michael is soft-looking in the shadows, still dawn-dark outside. Alex hovers for a moment, wanting to brush the curls from Michael’s forehead, his hand trembling with the effort to hold still.

-

Alex meets Javi in North Carolina. It’s his last weekend in town and he walks into a dimly lit bar with a sandwich board boasting the best BLT you’ll ever have. A couple beers and a true to advertising sandwich later, he finds himself flirting with the chef across the bar. He’s got tattoos sleeving both arms, disappearing down his throat to more interesting locations, and he’s staring Alex down when he tells him it’s time to lock up, but he lives just down the street. Eyes warm and scanning Alex up and down, a smile reflecting the neon of his signs. Alex drains his beer and lets Javi lead the way.

-

“You like it rough, huh,” he asks, laughter in his voice. They've barely made it into Javi's apartment, plastered to each other, barely breathing. Javi matches Alex for strength, pushing back into him, and Alex’s heart stutters. Javi grips his shoulders tightly, backing him into the wall in what should be a sexy move but Alex feels a part of himself shut down immediately. Chills ripple his skin.

He tries to push past the response, be in the moment. He doesn’t mind a little manhandling, honestly. It’s just--most of the time, his partners assume that he’s the one who likes to do the handling but--the only person who ever really--fuck, no shut that thought down. He can’t have anyone else in his head right now.

Then Javi runs one hand down Alex’s arm, circles his wrist and pins it in place against the wall. Alex reacts without thought, breaking the hold instantly. He’s got Javi’s arm in a lock, forearm bracing up against Javi’s neck for about two wild, quiet seconds where they both freeze, staring into one another’s eyes.

Alex drops Javi as though burned, stepping away.

“Fuck, I’m--shit, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I--” He breathes in deep, waits. “I’m sorry. I’ll go.”

“Hey, whoa, wait.” Javi reaches out, pauses, hovering behind Alex. “Hold on. We’re okay here. We just need to communicate a little, I think.”

Alex stills, back to Javi and _ fuck what the fuck is wrong with him. _ Javi is _ obviously _ not a threat, and even if he was, Alex could easily overpower him _ as just demonstrated, fuck fuck fuck. _His heart is about to burst from his chest it’s racing so hard. He looks down at his hands and tries not to see another, older, familiar set from his nightmares.

“Alex. Will you come sit with me?” Javi’s moving toward the couch, flipping on a few lights.

He looks so calm, so trusting; a gold hue to his dark skin under the lights, his smile patient.

Alex sits, keeping a good three feet of distance between them.

“So. When I grabbed your wrist that was--you didn’t like it.”

God, this is excruciating. Alex stares a few inches to the left of Javi. “Yeah.”

“Okay, so you need to be in control.”

Alex meets Javi’s eyes, rushing to say, “_No_. No, I don’t--I don’t want that.” His heart is starting to kick up again, just at the phrase. _ Be in control. _ Alex is comfortable being in control, in almost any situation, including between him and a partner. If that’s what they want, he’s fine delivering it, though he never particularly needs it. But the sudden, visceral idea of--of being in control of someone else, of seeking that out _ purposefully_, of _ wanting that from someone. _To make someone submit to his control--the idea, laid out like that, makes his skin crawl.

“Okay,” Javi says, slowly. He watches Alex carefully for about a century, then says, “My husband died four years ago. He was in the Army--Rangers, actually--and he… there were certain things he didn’t like, because of his service. Certain ways he didn’t like for me to touch him.”

All the air leaves Alex’s lungs, but he manages a choked, “I’m sorry, I--”

Javi waves him off with a hand, looking away briefly. His eyes are bright and his next breath wet, strained. “It’s--you’re fine. He was the love of my life, but it’s been. It’s okay.” Javi smiles, trudging forward. “Not something I usually share with a hookup, wow, we are a couple of hot messes. My point is I’m… I’m okay, if you still wanna do this. And by this, I mean, we could sit here on this couch and talk til the sun comes up, if you’d like.”

Alex’s chest is hot and tight for indiscernible reasons. “Why are you being so nice to me?” Alex struggles to swallow the next part of his question. _ Why, after I was such a fucking monster to you? _

Javi studies him, warm brown eyes darting over his face. He cups Alex’s jaw with one hand. “You just look so… sad. And I know what that’s like. I figure we could both use a little happiness, even if just for a bit."

“Oh,” breathes Alex. “That’s a pretty good reason.”

“Yeah,” Javi laughs, drops his hand. “I have them, from time to time. Other times,” he rolls his eyes, “ooh-hoo, I’m not even sure I should be allowed out of my house. All these bad ideas.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, man, _ yes_. It’s clinically bad, at this point.”

Alex laughs. “And if--if I wanted to stay? Would that be a bad idea?”

“You’re asking me?”

“Well, since you’re such an expert.”

They’ve inched closer to each other. Javi’s eyes watch Alex’s mouth. “In my expert opinion,” he says, “it might just be the best bad idea I've ever heard.”

-

“I ship out on Tuesday,” Alex says, already collecting his socks from the floor.

Javi laughs loudly. “Yeah, and today’s still--” he rummages around the bed for his phone, illuminating his face with a white glow “--damn, 11:59 on the _ dot._ Still only Saturday, soldier.”

“Um.” He’s never met resistance from that line before; no one’s ever _ really _wanted him to stay. He stalls, socks in hand, feeling strangely caught out. “Okay. I mean, if you’re sure.”

“Ohmygod.” Javi face-plants in the pillows, lifting one arm to wave Alex over. “Just get back in bed. That's like, an order.”

Alex laughs, then, feeling lightheaded and surprised, in quite a nice way.

-

They spend Sunday morning under the sheets. The connection is easy and sweet between them, no baggage and no worries. Javi is full of laughter, always smiling, always talking, telling Alex _ yes, yes, yes _and slipping into Spanish when his hands twist sharply in the sheets. Alex shows off and laps up Javi’s praise and knowing grins. He treats Alex kinder than he deserves, but Alex doesn’t stop him, soaking in his presence like it’s sunlight.

Alex is wearing a borrowed pair of sweats and no shirt, standing in the afternoon light in the middle of Javi’s kitchen, feeling bold for it. Javi is bent deep in his own fridge, pulling out ingredients to pile on his counters. Speakers atop the cabinets pump out new-pop, ridiculous songs. Alex ridicules him for his taste but can’t help watching Javi dance along. Javi makes blackberry compote and fresh waffles. Whips cream in a bowl and feeds Alex by the fingertips as Alex sits on the counter, feet swinging. Javi pushes in for a kiss and Alex melts, whipped cream on hot waffles kind of melt, spine going ooey-gooey soft.

In the evening, he’s at the door, legitimately needing to leave this time. Javi hugs him--it’s so unexpected Alex falters for a second, before wrapping him up, hugging back warmly, sinking into it for maybe a moment too long.

Javi kisses his cheek, one firm press, says, “If you’re ever in Cumberland again, you come find me, yeah? If my bad ideas don’t sink my restaurant by then, I’ll make you dinner.”

Alex grins, steps away. “I think you’re exaggerating these bad ideas of yours.”

“Oh, honey, you haven’t seen my bangs mistake of 2007 _ and _2009\. Yeah, I did it to myself twice.”

“Ouch.” Alex chuckles, fully aware he’s lingering with no reason to. “Bye, Javi. And thanks.”

Javi tips up on his toes to kiss Alex again, full on the mouth, surprising them both. “Bye, Alex.”

-

The next time Alex is in Roswell, he brings pancakes and syrup from the Crashdown to Michael’s doorstep. They eat on the steps of his trailer, all scrunched together, thighs glued together, bumping elbows, Michael eating like a goddamn wolf. He licks syrup from his palm, waggling his brows ridiculously, until Alex breaks out into a laugh. It’s dusk and Alex has to report back at base in the morning and he’s shipping out again--Afghanistan--and he knows, somewhere deep in his gut, that this deployment could be his last. He’s a specialized operator and with scant details he knows there are missions in his future that aren’t just dangerous, but entirely deniable black-ops that will send home a flag without explanation. And he feels all these thoughts swirling in his chest, rising to his throat, wanting to say them. Wanting Michael to know, just in case.

That there is no one on this planet Alex wants to sit next to more. There is no person, no matter how beautiful or kind, who can make him feel this way. And part of him wonders if it should upset him, knowing that his heart is owned entirely by one man. He thinks of Javi, who said _ love of my life_, so easily, and who made fresh waffles and kissed Alex softly, knowingly. He thinks of himself, at seventeen, angry and directionless and still coming back to Michael, over and over, no matter what. Finding his way in the dark, the magnetic pull of them, drawn together again. He thinks of Michael--really, as a person, beyond their stolen moments, all the things he doesn’t know, all the spaces he wants to explore. All the things he wants to share in return.

It’s an enormous, weightless-weight, ballooning inside of Alex. The need to say all this and more.

Michael is rolling up a pancake and trying to suck the syrup from the styrofoam container like it’s a straw. Alex is laughing harder than he has in years, actual tears forming in the corners of his eyes. They fight over the container until it’s upturned in the dirt and Michael is grabbing sticky handfuls of Alex, shoving him backward through the door. They tumble onto bed and lick each other clean, sweet and slow.

Michael finds new scars, that night. Maps Alex’s shoulder by starlight--shrapnel caught from a frag grenade, long since healed to thin, rickety lines. He doesn’t say a thing, just traces the skin gently as Alex breathes and closes his eyes.

-

“Stay,” Michael whispers in the morning, head still mashed in the pillows, just a mumbling lump of curls.

Alex dresses quietly. He thinks of all the things still swirling, so close to the surface.

Michael flops his head over, one eye peeking up at Alex.

Angina, or, or a cardiovascular defect--something grips Alex’s heart and squeezes until it’s hard to breathe. Why, he wants to ask, on the edge of furious and totally giving in. Why do you love me, I’m nothing, I’m nothing, I have nothing for you. I am broken, so utterly broken, I can never give you what you want. I’m a cursed object, flying through space. You deserve more, you deserve better. You deserve the world, the universe--beyond. Not me. 

Alex drops to his knees. He kisses Michael fiercely; hopes to scrape up all the good in him and give it to Michael through the kiss.

And then, of course, he leaves.

-

They’re twenty and Alex is going overseas for the first time two weeks from now and they’re both pretending to not be aware of this fact. It’s the day after Christmas and Alex has until the next morning to enjoy his cramped motel room on the outskirts of Roswell. Michael has already racked up a minibar bill, the dick. They’re eating microwave popcorn from the bag, watching _ Home Alone _on the brick-like TV, Michael on the floor, back to the bed, Alex between his legs, back to Michael’s chest. Naked and out of popcorn, Michael’s chin digging into Alex’s shoulder, Alex lifts one of Michael’s hands and sucks his index finger into his mouth. He licks and sucks his way through each finger, buttery, sloppy, tonguing between his fingers until Michael is hard again and he can turn in his arms, lean down to suck Michael’s cock into his wet, waiting mouth. Michael’s hand settles on the crown of Alex’s head, twisting in his hair, not applying any pressure beyond the weight of his hand. Soft, spasming grunts rumble from his chest. They don’t talk about the holidays. Alex doesn’t ask for any details of his life. He doesn’t deserve that, and he knows it. But after Michael finishes and he swallows, Michael stares down at him with an aching, soft smile, fingers still carding through Alex’s buzzed hair. It burns his sore throat and it makes him hide his face when he comes, Michael’s hands hot, all around him, his laugh soft and sweet in the shell of Alex’s ear.

-

Alex comes home--if he can really call it that anymore. Nowhere feels like home, nowadays, but Roswell’s sands run in his arms, and that seems close enough.

After discovering the whole (alien) situation and disposing of certain (fucked-up government sanctioned horrors) issues, he finds himself falling into the same old patterns. The Wild Pony is lighter, these days. More music, more Maria dancing and smiling, more drinks shared than spilled. More of that magic that keeps people coming back, now that the existential threat hanging over this town for the past century has finally been lifted.

He leaves Liz and Jenna laughing into their straws at the bar with a wave. They boo him for going home early, their good-natured jeering following him out of the door.

“Hey,” a voice intones from the shadowed wall of the Pony. Nick Bronson peels himself off the brick, flicking ash off his cigarette. “Damn pal, long time no see.”

Huh. Nick was a stoner in high school. He partied too hard for Alex’s taste--Alex really only knew him tangentially through Rosa, since he was in her grade and one of her hookups. He dressed in black and kept mostly to himself. Alex remembers judging him through Rosa’s lens, who reported Nick was nice enough but too mouth-breathy for her.

He stalls by the entrance, not moving closer. “Hey. Didn’t know you were still in town.”

“Wasn’t.” Nick exhales out the side of his mouth. “Came back a couple of years ago. Dad’s retiring.”

Alex’s mind races back to high school, remembering the huge van that would occupy the parking lot. _ BRONSON AND SONS. _“Right, his tiling company.”

“Mm. We do all kinds of flooring, now.”

“Cool.” Alex adjusts his grip on his cane, trying not to feel awkward but. “Well,” he starts towards his car, “good to see you man.”

Too quickly for Alex to react, Nick darts forward, grabbing at his forearm. The cigarette wastes away in the dirt. Alex’s body freezes over, like the sheet of frost on top of a winter lake. “Wait,” Nick tugs a little at Alex, and now that they’re up close and personal Alex can taste the bourbon stain on Nick’s breath, his unsteady eyes dilated and blinking hard. “You know, I remember you. Always wondered which of the rumors about you were true.”

Alex brings his cane up, fast, jabbing the soft underside of Nick’s chin. He twists, drives an elbow into Nick’s gut and shoves him off.

“Go home before you embarrass yourself anymore, Bronson.” Alex says, not bothering a glance back as he continues toward his car.

Nick slings a nasty curse at Alex’s back, scrabbling up from the dirt. But just as Alex resigns himself to having to kick this guy’s ass, someone shouts, “_Hey!_” and hauls Nick back by the jacket, slamming him into the wall.

Michael’s gotta be using his power, because Nick’s hands are stuck to the wall and he’s gasping, sweating with an invisible struggle against Michael’s hold.

Alex sighs. “Guerin.”

“Time to go home, asshole.” Michael pushes Nick into the wall once more for good measure and watches as Nick struggles to stand for a second, then books it across the lot. All the fight slides right off Michael’s shoulders as he spins to take Alex in, grinning like the cat that got the cream. “Hope this starts a new rumor.” Alex shakes his head, studiously ignoring Michael in favor of going home. He’s not smiling, definitely not at all. Michael skips forward, falling in easily at Alex’s side. “Hot Bachelor Michael Guerin Saves Innocent Damsel.” He announces it like a news headline, looking far off before pinning his grin on Alex. “Do I get a reward?”

Alex snorts a laugh, not noticing the dash of curls that fall into Michael’s eyes. “More like, Known Dumbass Instigates Another Bar Fight.”

“Ouch,” Michael slaps one open hand over his heart. “C’mon. This was very dashing of me, admit it.” Alex stops in front of his door, pops the handle. Michael immediately closes the door, pressing one palm against it with a grin.

“Guerin.”

“Stop with that.” Michael’s crowding in close, pressing him against his own car.

Alex’s pulse is thready, but he lifts his chin. “What should I call you, then?”

A head tilt, eyes glimmering. “Robin Hood?”

“Oh, am I Maid Marian?”

“No darlin’,” he says, one hand laying flat on Alex’s window, giving Michael leverage to lean his head in. “You’re still you.”

Alex’s eyes shut of their own accord. For a moment the bar’s music and melody of voices, the tires grinding gravel, the far off coyote cries--everything stops and all he can hear is Michael’s breath, falling like silk on Alex’s lips.

“You didn’t need to do that.”

“I know,” he says, easy. “I just wanted to.”

It’s too much. Alex’s head is going to explode from the pressure. He can’t open his eyes. “Michael. Don’t.” He’s another second away from begging.

Michael says, “Hey. Look at me,” and Alex does. Michael’s eyes map Alex’s face. He takes off his cowboy hat to set it on the roof of Alex’s car, then frames Alex’s jaw with his hands. It took--_a lot _ to let Michael go. To find an awkward, painful, bumpy road through the broken-heartedness and into a real friendship. Alex only--_always_\--wants Michael to be happy. And he thought--there’s no way after everything that Alex can be that for him, not now--getting on well and being themselves around each other, being friends, that was more of a gift than Alex thought he’d get. That’s enough, it’s more than, it’s-- “Is this okay?” Michael asks, cradling Alex still, shielding him bodily from the world, blocking out the stars with his curls and lashes, hiding the moon in a slanting, sideways smile.

Alex can’t answer in words. So he says yes with his hands, yanking Michael down by the collar. Yes with his mouth, yes with his arms hooking the back of Michael’s neck, yes with the heat that’s trapped between their bodies. Yes in the smiling kiss that meets moonbeams.

-

“I’m busy.”

Alex stops, one step out of his car. The door closes in the silence with a slam. 

Michael’s head is bent over an engine, his mouth a bitter smear_. _ Dusk spreads its golden light across Roswell's desert, shadows creeping over the mountains and reaching towards them. It strikes Alex just how _ adult _Michael looks. Soft youth traded for a hard jaw and stained denim. It’s coming up on a decade since they were in high school, and still, Alex closes his eyes and can taste the steel-string residue on the tips of Michael’s fingers, can feel the flutter of nerves when Michael so much as looked at him. 

“I can go,” Alex offers.

The drive socket clicks as Michael works, sweat-damp curls covering his eyes. “Beer in the fridge.”

His trailer door is open, melodies streaming through. Alex sets a slick bottle on the edge of Michael’s workstation and falls into a busted, dusty lawn chair. Sips from his own chilled bottle, watches.

The air is charged, though the sky is clear. Rain must be rolling over the mountains, everything heavy and sweet. Alex sinks into the rhythm of metal ringing, tools scraping, boots sliding in the dirt. Michael wipes his palms on a rag and tugs the inside of his shirt up over his nose, blotting the sweat away. Gray shirt pulling at his arms, stretching across his back. Part by part, hands methodical and sure, he reassembles the machine. He works in reverse of Alex, poking and teasing encryptions apart. Hands greased, scarred, calloused; hands Alex knows better than his own.

Michael covers his work with a tarp, drains his beer. Then he stamps the bottle down in the dirt and lifts himself into the Airstream with a leap. Alex follows. It’s almost rote, the start of it. Michael strips like it’s a dare, watching Alex under his choppy waves. Alex copies him. Michael’s eyes are storms, dry desert lightning shows that challenge Alex, spark inside him. They’re naked, just standing before one another. Alex steps forward; brushes the inside of Michael’s hand with his fingertips. Flames catch between their skin, and the performative anger melts into the truth; the real grudge they hold against each other is that they can never get enough. Michael kisses Alex sweetly, pinning him to the bed. Music carries in from the kitchenette, static-rough radio, some old country station. Friction builds heat between their bodies, sweat charging the air. Alex rolls them over after Michael has a condom on--a new trick he learned--landing with his palms on Michael’s chest. Laughing, gasping with bright eyes and a lazy, hazy grin Michael cups Alex’s hips, his ass, pulling him closer even as Alex pushes away. He takes Michael into him all at once, not able to bear wasting another moment--Michael’s eyes flutter shut. Alex sets a brutal pace, walls shaking around them. Hands scrabble at his waist, trying to slow them down, but Alex can’t--he _ needs _ Michael. He says as much, letting it slip in a desperate breath. Michael breaks; hooking one arm under Alex’s shoulders, crashing their mouths together, hips snapping up to meet Alex. His other hand is iron around Alex’s hip, under his thigh, yanking Alex closer. With a smooth, practiced move, Michael sweeps upward, crowding Alex and then folding him against the bed, hands hooked under his thighs. Alex clings to him as Michael settles his knees on the bed, dips Alex low, and fucks him hard. Alex holds on, rough laugh rumbling through him at the wild thought, _ adulthood has its perks. _ Michael fucks into him like he’s dying and Alex lets go of everything but the sensation of Michael, in him, all around him. They finish sweating, mouthing soundlessly against each other. Michael licks his neck and noses the damp hair pushed over his ear, not easing up for a good minute. Alex smudges Michael’s mouth with his thumb, then a kiss, sighing as Michael finally pulls back. The mattress rocks when he stands. Rustling, a cabinet opening and closing, tap running. Michael drains the glass, sets it in the sink. Doesn’t look up from the basin.

Alex slides out from the sheets and stops at Michael’s back, tracing his touch down Michael’s arm, to his fingers. They tangle themselves together, Michael turning into him fully. Alex’s ear rests on Michael’s shoulder and they sway to soft chords, old cowboys singing about lost loves. He doesn’t sleep over, this time, and the song is stuck in his head for months.

-

Alex can't grasp it completely, his desires formless as smoke. He knows what he should want, what the world expects of him. Other people's pressures, their eyes and calculations, adding up his history and height, deciding for him. And sometimes, maybe it's nice to indulge in the idea of it, his own strength--military shoulders and unflappable calm, he knows what he looks like from the outside. Maybe it's nice to feel whole and capable and in control, through the distanced-eye of someone who doesn't really know him. But it's not what he wants. 

All he knows is what he wants, who he wants it with. And it's the control, with Michael, not taking or giving, just sharing it and trusting each other. It's about choosing to fall; it's about _ knowing _he has a choice. And even then. Even with the most perfect of circumstances, memory lies with predatory stillness just below his skin.

-

After the bar, they go back to Alex’s. 

Alex is practically floating, feeling like the first time he walked into an ocean, wonderment and weightlessness. Michael is above him on the bed, kissing Alex like they have all the time in the world. His hand slides up Alex’s neck, gripping there. It’s something he’s done a thousand times; something Alex loves. He keens and tilts his head back and Michael squeezes for a moment--except his thumb nudges Alex’s windpipe, an accident, and Alex can’t breathe, suddenly, and even after Michael moves his hand into Alex’s hair, his lungs still burn.

“Stop,” he chokes, voice unsteady, heartbeat sloshing liquid in his ears. “Stopstop_stop_\--”

“Whoa.” Michael pulls away quickly, panting hard, eyes cloudy but sharpening quickly as they search Alex’s face. “Hey, what’s wrong? It’s okay, Alex--”

“Sorry.” Alex pulls back completely, sitting alone on the sheets, looking to the left of Michael. Skin ice, a sharp stinging in his chest. “I just--need a minute.”

“Okay.” Michael props up on his elbows, completely exposed but not moving a muscle, watching Alex intensely. “You’re okay.”

A cold minute ticks by, then another. Alex focuses on breathing, deeply, clearly. His throat doesn’t even hurt but he--it’s not--fuck. Bone and blood--the desperate, helpless scratching--a new, fresh kind of fear repulsing every instinct--hard, dead eyes observing him like an insect under a thumb--

“Sorry,” he says, again, unsure of what else to offer.

“Hey, hey,” says Michael, petting one hand down Alex’s side like he’s a spooked horse. “Slow down.”

“Sorry.” Lights are flashing behind his eyelids. He’s not sure he can confidently recite the date if asked. All the blood in his palms is gone, hands numb and clinging to Michael’s shoulders. “Sorry, sorry.”

Michael lays him back, gently. Hands bracket Alex’s face, tethering him to the present, to the breath breaking across his mouth. “Alex,” he says, impossibly soft, tinged with sadness. Lips press against his own, then his chin, his cheek, a seal imprinting his skin, over and over. “I’m right here. Just breathe.”

He tries, he really does. Slowly, he finds his rhythm again, copying the rise and fall of Michael’s chest. When he’s calm enough, Michael pulls back, settling next to him for a quiet minute.

“Is it… when I…?” Michael lifts one hand vaguely, glancing intently at Alex’s neck.

He can only nod.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t--I’m sorry. I won’t do that again, okay?”

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault.”

Michael snorts. “Don’t do that. It’s not okay. I never… when, if I’m ever rough with you like that, it’s because I want you to feel _ good_, Alex. Always good. If it’s not good for you, I don’t wanna do it.”

“That simple, huh?” Alex almost laughs but his breath is too tight to manage.

“Yeah,” says Michael, easily. “That simple, darlin’.”

Alex relaxes several degrees, some lizard-brain, instinctual response to Michael’s endearment. He sinks into Michael’s voice like a hot bath. “Okay,” he says, rough. He reaches for strength he doesn’t feel and steels his tone. “Okay.”

Michael reaches out with one hand, resting three fingers on Alex’s hand, more careful than Alex deserves. Michael doesn’t ask why, doesn’t poke for a reasoning behind Alex’s freak out. It takes another minute of deep breaths for Alex to realize it’s because he already knows the answer.

Alex holds his next breath until the hot flash behind his eyes passes and he can manage to glance towards Michael.

“Can we just--lay here, for a second?”

Michael smiles--it’s the tender-hearted thing that hides under a curtain of curls, wide, adoring eyes. It’s the smile that sends Alex’s spirit soaring, every time. They curl into one another, Michael letting Alex manipulate their position, not reaching for anything more than Alex gives. They end up face to face, mirrored on the same pillow, holding hands in the space between their chests.

-

They’re tearing through the door one night, lock-step together, grinning through kisses. Michael is still holding back, just a little, just enough to annoy the hell out of him. Alex bites at Michael’s lip with his teeth, tugging up Michael’s shirt. He guides Michael’s hands to his hips, squeezing hard, but Michael softens his grip, kisses down Alex’s neck. Alex pulls at Michael’s neck, crushing their bodies together. Michael sways back like a wave, keeping a sliver of distance. Alex kisses him with every dirty trick he’s learned over the past decade, gasping open-mouthed when he pulls away to walk backward down their hall. Michael advances quickly, pushing Alex against the wall, hand in his hair tugging his head back sharply and _ finally_\--

Then, he pauses. The hand in Alex’s hair loosens by a fraction.

“This okay?” his eyes still burning black, hooded with desire.

“No. I don’t want you to hold back,” he says, trying to keep most of the whine out of his tone.

“I don’t wanna hurt you, babe.”

“Fuck off.” The sexy, electric energy is quickly draining. Stressed and confused and still turned on, Alex snaps, “This wasn’t an issue before last week but that wasn’t--I don’t _ want _you to be careful.”

“So what _ do _you want, then?” Michael’s voice is rocketing up, half-way to tearing at his curls, Alex can tell. God, they wind each other up so well. Alex wants to shout back, but he takes a breath instead, and tries a new tactic.

“I love everything you do, Michael.” He deploys the name like a smoke grenade, to confuse and disorient, giving him time to brave through the next bit. “You make me feel… everything. There’s no one in the world that makes me feel better. And it’s _ you_. It’s just you. I can’t do that, with anyone else. No one can hold me or touch me like you do, not because I don’t like it, but because there’s no one in this world I trust more than you.”

Michael’s eyes are wide, pink mouth parting. His hands are fists, vibrating at his side. Voice choked, he says, “Alex, I--”

“When it’s you,” says Alex, haltingly, because if he doesn't get it out now he knows he never will, “it’s--it’s always safe, with you.”

Michael surges forward, then, kissing Alex, pulling him in, running his hands all along Alex’s back, like he’s desperate to touch every part of him. Their foreheads knock together, and Michael’s trembling breath falls against Alex’s lips. Michael searches Alex’s eyes, fingertips tracing Alex’s jawline like he’s glass. “Same. I mean, with you. I always… you're safe.”

Tears prick unexpectedly at Alex’s eyes, face hot. He can’t articulate the mess of pain and tenderness in his chest so he curls himself under Michael’s chin, hoping Michael understands, hoping he can share his thoughts through skin contact and sheer force of will. It must work somewhat, because Michael’s arms circle him, holding him in a tight hug. They stay like that for a long, perfect minute.

-

Being in love is being known. For Alex, there’s only one person he wants to explore, only one person he welcomes in. Bruises and burns and breaks--they live under his skin, not as painful or as powerful as they once were, but still there. But that’s alright. He’s still here, too.

**Author's Note:**

> title from Wallflower by Kimberley August  
thank you to [rai](https://alexmanes.tumblr.com/) for the beta and encouragement <3  
read [this post](https://signoraviolettavalery.tumblr.com/post/613803872931250176/i-still-hate-carina-but-i-cant-stop-thinking#notes) and kept thinking about it - so many interesting essays to be written on alex’s relationship with his body and himself, wrt sexual partners and michael in particular. this fic however is me just deep in my alex feels, but pls link me to any and all alex manes thinkpieces thank u kindly <3  
  
[tumblr](http://katsofmeer.tumblr.com/)


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